


as it was

by Salty_Cro



Series: worshiping a god only i can see [4]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Song: As It Was (Hozier), Songfic, The Adventure Zone: Amnesty (Podcast) - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-12-07 08:27:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18232394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salty_Cro/pseuds/Salty_Cro
Summary: You get lost fairly easily, but he always brings you home.





	as it was

**Author's Note:**

> this will be rearranged to the fourth position in the series but it is the last one in linear time to be posted so basically we did it! this one's a little bit horny but like a regular hozier amount.

Sometimes you slip. You lose your grip on the present, on him, and you are lost in your own mind. Sometimes it’s a garden, sometimes it’s a minefield. Most times, it’s a road. The road cuts through a forest but is well-traveled, with dense flowering brush along the sides. There are openings in the foliage at random intervals, representing the choices that could be made and where they might lead. You are always walking forward. Sometimes you turn off the road, sometimes you keep moving in the same direction, but you are always moving forward. Always pushing further into the future. Always getting lost.

 

When you are so lost that you just wish you were home, you do the unthinkable. You turn around. And there you are, on that road again, but going back. Going back to him. Within moments, you are in the present, and you are in his arms. He doesn’t tell you how long it’s been, and he doesn’t ask what you saw. He’s just glad you’re here with him.

 

Eventually, once you’ve understood it yourself, you do tell him what you saw. You saw darkness, and you saw light, and you were unsure which side you were on. You saw flames, you saw suffering, you saw rebirth and you saw celebration. You saw everything, and you understood enough of it, enough to know that what you need to see is right in front of you.

 

You tell him other things too. You tell him how you were an accessory to the royalty, you tell him how you aided in the destruction of your home, you tell him how you escaped, and how you never plan to return. You tell him of the fights you were in, of the drugs you tried, of the people you thought could protect you. You tell him all these horrible things about yourself, and he doesn’t care. Well, he cares, but he cares more about you now.

 

“If— if I get so lost, so lost I don’t remember how to come back, would you wait for me?” you ask.

 

“Of course,” he says.

 

“For how long?” you ask.

 

“For— shit, I mean, as long as it takes, right? For you to get back?” he answers. He sounds worried now.

 

“I’m not planning on it,” you say, taking his hand.

 

“Well, I don’t think you were planning on disappearing before,” he says. A guilt you have only understood since you’ve known him stabs through you.

 

Before, you didn’t have a reason to be in the present. Before, you were running from everything. Abominations, the past, the future. The futures you saw, at least. But then you saw him walk out onto that dark highway, and you knew he was doing it to get you to come back and that was reason enough. Now you understand that he is more than enough for you. Too much, some might argue, but you’re just grateful he’s there for you at all.

 

“I think you know by now that even if I’m gone, I’ll always come back,” you promise.

 

And then one day, you do have to leave, and you tell him, and you also tell him that you won’t be able to explain until later. He understands, he always does, and kisses you one more time before you leave. The memory of his lips on yours gets you through what you do next. He gets you through everything you wish you wouldn’t do, even if he doesn’t know it.

 

And once it’s over you return, bloodied and shaking, to his doorway. 

 

“You’re home,” he says. You just nod.

 

He lets you in, and he’s not scared. He helps you clean up and kisses your worries away. Wandering hands and lips distract you from the monster that you are. It’s almost funny, you think, how you can do all the things you’ve done, but when you come home you are his. Afterwards, he tells you about his day at work, and the other days that you missed because you had worse things to do.

 

That night, you see more, you are gone longer, you miss him more. It’s nothing compared to the days, weeks, months that you were alone. It does hurt more, though. Still, you bear this burden because it means less weight for him to carry. You see again the darkness and the light and the sadness and the flames and the triumph and the celebration and the uncertainty. Always so much uncertainty. You look for the definition, the detail that makes the difference. You take notes, more like still pictures in your mind, and you turn around and go back to him.

 

You can’t tell him this time. It would make things too complicated. Not too long ago, you would have used this as an excuse to not know him at all. Now, though, you wouldn’t give him up for the world. It’s terrifying, to feel your objectivity melt away at the thought of a man who is so mundanely significant. To his town and your home, sure, but more importantly to you. He is so important to you. Telling him about the end of the world would only make things worse. You need him there so he can make things better.

 

He promises, again and again, that he will be there. Just like you promise to come back. He is your stability, your anchor in a world that is balanced on the edge of oblivion. Before you met him, in your objectivity, you might have called him a beacon. Now you know that beacons are stupid, and you can accept the shallow moth jokes he offers you. He is your light, and you are inevitably drawn to him. He laughs when you tell him that, but he knows you’re serious. He’s beautiful, and you tell him that too, and his laugh is softer now. He’s not very good at accepting compliments, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve them.

 

Really, now that you think about it, there are a lot of interesting comparisons you could make. He is a tree, and you are the moth whose wings blend with the bark. He is the warmth that keeps you from freezing over or falling into hibernation (well, that one is pretty literal). He is the flower whose nectar you— you know what, maybe it’s better if you stop there. He is already laughing, a sweet sound that echoes through his apartment. Your apartment. Your home. That’s what it is. That’s how it’s supposed to be.

 


End file.
